Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

Note from JetBoy: Here’s what you’ve been waiting for, happy readers: Part Two of the swashbuckling sapphic sea saga of Captain Bren, in which you will find our heroine and her crew embarking on new adventures, seeking unimaginable wealth, engaging in combat with cannon and sword… and in the case of Bren and her lover Marianna, fucking beautiful women and girls at every opportunity.

Infinite thanks to kinkychic and kinky’s_sis (our beloved Kinky Sisters), for once again sharing the contents of their wicked imaginations with us. Truly, we are blessed.

 

By kinkychic and kinky’s_sis

 

Chapter I: The Slave Ship

The wind was kind to us, providing a rapid departure from Tortola and towards the open sea – and safety. We saw no sign of any pursuing ships. It seemed we were clear away.

We needed to consider our options more thoroughly than we had so far. I hailed for Calico Jack to please come aboard and instructed Halcombe, our newly promoted deck officer, that he was to make sure no one, especially not any English officer, came anywhere near the skylight to my cabin. We must not be overheard.

The first mate, Jensen, the bosun and of course Davy were invited to join the meeting. It was a tight fit, what with those three, Jack and Anne Bonny—who followed him everywhere—Marianna and myself all crammed into my not-so-spacious cabin.

I pointed at the large map of the Caribbean spread out upon the table. “We are heading southeast towards Antigua,” I began, “a fact I’m sure our prisoners will be well aware of. I’ve been pondering the best place to put them ashore – preferably somewhere not garrisoned by the British, yet where they will be treated well until their Navy picks them up.”

I had thought of Montserrat, which, although it was English, had no garrison as far as I was aware. Rackham, however, had a better idea.

“May I suggest the Guadeloupe islands?” he said. “As you likely know, they are in French hands. For once, we are not at war with them. They won’t hurry themselves in deciding what to do with our guests, but they’ll look after them well enough while we make good our escape.”

I had not previously anchored anywhere in the Guadeloupe group, although I had sailed through it. It comprised a considerable number of islands, which would give us plenty of cover. I liked the idea. The only reservation came from Davy,

“Best hope that volcano don’t go blowin’ its ‘ed, it bein’ one of the nasty ones in these ’ere parts,” he warned.

He was not at all upset at the ripple of laughter his observation incited. It had been many years since the mountain had last erupted, although it smoked continually.

Jack raised the very question that had been nagging at me. “May I enquire, Captain, if you are still planning on sailing for Antigua?”

“It’s a good question, Jack,” I replied. “I haven’t put my thoughts to the men yet, but I am leaning towards taking a look south, down the American mainland. There’s a lot of gold coming out of there, bound for Spain or Portugal. No one will be expecting us to head in that direction, least of all the King’s Navy. I wondered whether you might want to sail with us?”

“Aye, I see your reasoning. It’s quite sound, but I will decline,” Jack said. “My crew have made it clear they want to head for New Spain, towards Vera Cruz. They hear of the large Spanish gold flotas sailing from there.”

I had myself considered exactly that possibility, but I knew the flotas were well protected by Spanish frigates. Tangling with them was a risk I neither wanted nor needed to take. “Take care, Jack. There could be big rewards, but it’s a perilous undertaking.”

Later, I put my thoughts and reasons to my own officers and crew, who agreed to my plans. Few had ever sailed far south, but most had heard stories of both wealth and beautiful women. There were tales of an immense river that disappeared into the interior of the country, and of hidden cities where gold was to be seen everywhere. For myself, I believed not a word of it, but it would be wise to disappear for a while, and this was as good a place as any for the purpose.

***

We dropped our captives on the main island of Guadeloupe, as planned. The volcano smouldered at us, but did not interfere – perhaps because Davy kept a constant eye on it.

The Naval lieutenant was none too happy at being put ashore on a French island, yet he maintained his courtly demeanour.

“I must admit to being puzzled,” he said. “Why are we hunting you, Captain? You have treated us well. My conversations with your officers have led me to believe that you have been unfairly branded a pirate when in truth you have a privateer’s warrant. I know you never kill or mistreat anyone unless you are forced into battle. Your action against us was in self-defence, although I’m sure you know it will not be seen that way in England. You are now regarded as an enemy of the state.” He offered me his hand. “I never expected to say this to a woman – indeed, a very young woman – but you are one of the most capable sailors I have ever met. My hope is we do not meet again. I believe you will understand.”

With that, he snapped off a smart salute. Bugger me! It was the first time I had ever been so honoured. I was far more used to seeing the knuckle on a cap.

“Go in peace, Lieutenant,” I said. “If you are able, then speak for me, but do not worry yourself on the matter.”

We cleared the harbour at Le Moule and headed north as if we were indeed sailing for Antigua, but as soon as we were out of sight of land, we tacked and headed northwest. We would round the head of Grand Terre and head for the mainland.

The next day, I waved farewell to Jack. He carried on the way we had been heading, whereas we tacked to the southwest. I was more than a little worried: Why would he even think of heading towards Jamaica? I would have taken a much wider route to avoid the small but dangerous British squadron stationed there. You don’t have many friends outside of a ship in this way of life. I had come to think of Calico Jack as the nearest person, besides my fellow shipmates, that I counted as a friend.

***

“Marianna, listen to this.” I was reading from the Spanish account of one Don Caltez and his explorations in the south. “This Don writes of a hidden bay, impossible to spot from out at sea. They came upon it by accident when a storm almost drove them onto the rocks. He speaks of immense wealth, great quantities of gold and jewels. He is then shipwrecked in another storm, and it seems that he did not properly chart his journey. A few have tried, but no one has found the place again.

“Oh, and he also describes a cult of virgins. Exquisite young women, in his estimation. I must say, that tempts me more than the riches.”

Marianna laughed, “Whoever heard of such a thing? Just more wishful nonsense from men who have been at sea too long, don’t you think, my love?”

I had to agree, though the account did seem quite vivid in its telling. True or not, it was intriguing.

“Land ho!” the topman shouted. “Two points on the starboard bow!”

I hastily dropped the journal and rushed up on deck. It was our first sight of the mainland after two weeks of heading south.

As we approached, we saw a much varied coast. Sandy stretches, backed by tall forest and towering cliffs broken only occasionally by sharp crevices. We scoured our charts, but they were out of date and told us little. Nothing much was known of this area. Once again, it was Davy who spoke up. He was becoming more forward in expressing his thoughts these days, although certainly no clearer.

“I seen this afore,” he said. “We needs to head more south, leastways, I think so, beggin’ your pardon, Cap’ain.”

It made little difference. South it would be.

The following day, the top lookout reported an opening in the coastline. “Could be a bay!” he shouted.

Cautiously, we edged closer. We had our topsails furled, only our bare top spars showing. It would be hard for anyone to see us as the sun dropped below the horizon ahead.

It appeared to be a huge bay with deep water leading a long way inland and no sign of shallowing or reefs.

“What do you see?” I called to the topman.

“Only one sail!” he replied. A short pause, then – “A brig of some sort, lot bigger’n us, almost frigate size. Gettin’ too dark to see prop’ly, Cap’ain. But I sees no activity aboard. Big fire on the beach. Can’t be seein’ if she’s a Frenchie, Spanish, or any other.”

We gathered together – Jensen, Marianna, Davy, and myself.

“What say you? Shall we take her out?” I asked. ”It strikes me her crew are most likely ashore. It should be an easy job.”

I liked Jensen. I always had. But now, I more often saw he had the kind of attitude I needed in my officers. He seldom questioned my judgement, but he was quite willing to express his thoughts.

“Give me the longboat and a few hand-picked men,” he proposed. “We’ll take her for you, Captain.”

“No, Jensen, I must disappoint you. I will lead the boarding party. I want to be on the spot to make quick decisions, and we may not have time to send messages back and forth. I want you to remain in charge of the Siren.”

It proved much easier than we imagined. The majority of the crew, who turned out to be Spanish, were indeed ashore. Those left on board were senseless with drink. It was but a matter of minutes before we had the ship. One lone sailor managed to grab hold of a pistol and fire off a shot. He came nowhere close to hitting anyone, and he was quickly overpowered.

I put what crew there were aboard a small boat and set them adrift. The anchor was soon hauled, and we raised sufficient sail to clear the bay. We kept our speed to a minimum, as we were passing through a narrow gap in what was now complete darkness. We sailed together, two reasonably powerful ships under my command.

Davy reported there were slaves below – dozens, he said. By God, I hated slavers, but the poor devils would have to wait until we had cleared the point before I could take a look at them. It wouldn’t do to be trapped inside the bay should a warship appear, especially as my men were now split between the two ships, and each was too undermanned to give fight.

The Spanish ship hadn’t been built as a slaver. It was, rather, a twenty-four-gun man-of-war hastily converted to that damnable trade. I expected conditions in the hold to be wretched, of course, but nothing could have prepared me for the awful sight, nor the dreadful stench that assailed me when at last I went below. So many souls, unwashed, half-naked and crammed into such a confined space! Oddly, they were not black, as I expected, but of a lighter brown. I guessed them to be South American natives. One young girl seemed to have been given her own small area apart from the rest, as far, at least, as her chains would allow. No one was sitting close to her.

There was something about her. She had fairer skin than the rest. Even through the grime on her face, I could see she was beautiful, her delicately boned face topped by lustrous, blue-black hair. Whereas most of the slaves cowered in fear, she remained proud and defiant, sitting perfectly upright with her feet tucked close to her body. Her eyes were on me, and a slightly puzzled look on her face.

There were only two others among the slaves that sat equally defiant. These two were of the African origin I had expected.

I shouted up the ladder, “Get the hatches open and get fresh water down here!” I could not see a key hanging anywhere. “And send someone down with tools to get these chains off.”

I heard Marianna gasp behind me. “These poor people, Bren – such cruelty!” She pushed past me and stopped in front of the girl, who appeared to be the only young one among the captives. She did not flinch when Marianna put a hand to her cheek.

Just as the hatch was lifting, allowing the fresh sea air to come flooding in, young Jason came rushing down the ladder. “I got a key, Cap’ain,” he said. “Might it be the one we be needin’?”

Marianna almost snatched it from the lad before bending over the girl. The key was indeed the right one, and in a moment Marianna was helping the young captive to her feet.

“Take her to the cabin, Marianna,” I told her. “She needs water and something to eat.”

The manacled slaves now seemed less afraid of us, as they had seen we were releasing them and passing buckets of fresh water around. I listened to their jabber, but did not recognize the language. One man, who seemed to be some sort of elder, came forward. He pointed to where the girl had been chained, then at the ladder, speaking an endless, agitated stream of meaningless words. It dawned on me that he, amongst other things, was likely asking where she had been taken.

He went quiet when I beckoned him to follow. He hesitated a moment or two, then apprehensively ascended the ladder behind me.

I entered the ship’s cabin to find Marianna washing the girl’s face. The opening of the door startled the child, but she visibly relaxed when she saw it was me. The elder, if that’s what he was, would not come through the doorway. Instead, with hands clasped in front of him, he bent at the waist before he spoke only a few words.

For the first time, the girl spoke. It was a soft lilting voice, almost chant-like. The concerned look on the elder’s face immediately dissipated. I shook my head at what was probably a question he asked me. I hadn’t a notion of what he might be saying. He pointed to the sores on his wrists then held them together as if still manacled.

I took hold of his hands and pulled them apart, and I attempted to mime removing his chains and throwing them away. It appeared to work. He smiled up at me before clasping his hands together once again and bowing, exactly as he had done when the girl had spoken. He then turned and went back the way we had come. I closed the door.

Marianna had finished washing the girl and was now brushing her hair. This young girl – whose beauty had become fully evident – would surely never pass for white, yet she was quite different from the other natives. It was also now obvious that she was younger than I had thought. She could not have been older than fourteen, possibly younger.

Marianna and I sat together as we watched the girl eat the fruit we had offered her. Her eyes never left us, and the slightly puzzled expression we noted earlier had returned. She glanced down. Marianna had placed her hand on mine, and she had seen. She leaned closer, her eyes searching our faces. The smile that suddenly appeared was dazzling, as she reached out, and her hand covered ours.

She spoke once more. I shrugged, not understanding. It brought her frown back for a moment, but then she entwined her two little fingers together before pointing at us.

Now, I understood what she was asking and so did Marianna, who, ever more expressive than myself, turned and gave me a quick kiss on the mouth.

The girl’s smile widened, and she stood. I was astonished as she unfastened the string that held her smock together. There was no shyness as she spread it wide, revealing her body.

We were stunned by the tattoos that adorned her. I gasped, amazed not only by the unquestionable skill of the unknown artist, but also by the subject matter – beautiful girls, cavorting in the most outrageous ways imaginable. Most would have thought it depraved. I, however, found it quite bewitching.

She had exposed only half of herself. I ached to see more, but she lowered the curtain once again, concealing her body and the small pouch that hung on a string around her neck. Her eyes sparkled. Clearly, she had enjoyed seeing our reactions.

I pulled myself together before turning to Marianna. “Why don’t you try some of your language skills while I go and organise things on deck?” I said.

***

Jensen, in the Siren, followed us along the coast in a southerly direction. After a day of cruising, we had yet to find a safe anchorage in which to spend the night. I was wary of drawing too close to shore, as we had spotted a number of reefs, some just breaking the surface. This was a dangerous area in which to sail without good charts, and this close in, all but impossible at night.

“Deck ho!” the topman shouted. “I sees what looks like a strong flow of dirty water.”

As we edged closer to the coast, lookouts posted to warn of any obstructions, the water changed colour from greenish-blue to yellowish-brown. We could no longer see what dangers might lie beneath the surface. The leadsmen, one to starboard and one to larboard, cast their lines ahead of the ship and continually shouted out the depths.

It was soon clear that we were following a deep, albeit narrow, channel. The helmsman looked concerned. “That be a strong current comin’ out of there, Cap’ain, but I reckons we’ll be fine if the wind don’t suddenly shift. Might be just a tad difficult when we needs to be leavin’.”

I signalled for Siren to drop anchor. We would go on alone for the moment. There was little point in risking both ships running aground.

Any concerns soon proved unfounded. The channel was deep enough all along the centre of our route, no doubt scoured out by the fast-running waters. As soon as the entrance widened into a large bay, I gave the order to proceed towards the northerly shore.

“I thinks one of these ’ere wants to speak, Cap’ain,” Davy said.

An agitated native hesitantly came forward, pointing at the shore towards which we were headed whilst pouring forth a stream of incomprehensible words. It was quite clear to me that he was not at all happy with the choice I had made.

I pointed to the opposite bank, which I estimated was two miles away. He shouted what may have been a ‘yes’, but he certainly looked happier. He then pointed at where we were still headed before miming a bow and arrow, a man throwing a spear and a strange blowing motion which I failed to understand.  What was clear, though, was that there was trouble on that side.

“Take us about. We’ll head for the southern shore,” I said.

The water was now a thick, dirty brown. “Keep those soundings going. We’ll drop anchor if it gets to three fathoms.” I called a powder boy over. “Signal for Siren to follow us in.” He looked at me, a quite blank expression on his face. “Hoist a green flag, younker.”

“Yes Sir, Cap’ain, Ma’am.” He grinned as he hastily searched the box of flags.

The cook had no inkling of what the natives ate, but they cautiously tried what he dished up during the day, and they seemed satisfied. It was not long after we had dropped anchor and the Siren was close alongside that everyone partook of the evening meal.

It had been a long day. I was tired, hungry and in need of a glass or two of something strong. “Mister Halcombe, you have the deck,” I said. “Any concerns, shout for me. You may eat and drink while you watch. Keep a lookout on the shore and upriver.”

It surprised some the way I ran my ship, for my methods were quite unlike those of most pirates. My way had more of a Naval leaning about it. My mentor, Captain LaFarge, had always been a gentleman. Being a privateer had suited him, but a pirate … no! He had been a cut above most men of that type. I found that an element of discipline made for a more efficient ship. It wasn’t overdone or harsh, not in the way of many Naval officers. The men had learned, a few grudgingly, that it worked. It gave us an edge over our opponents when needed. I prided myself in the fact that the Siren most likely carried the best gun crews of any pirate ship in the Caribbean.

***

I saw the steaming bath the moment I entered the cabin. Marianna passed me a glass, and a quick sniff told me it was brandy. She knew it had become my favourite.

“Drink up, my Captain,” she said. “As you see, we have a bath ready for you.”

It was the one luxury – though nothing more than a leaky tin contraption – we had found aboard this Spanish ship.

“We?” I asked, quite startled.

It transpired that one or two of the freed natives spoke a smattering of Spanish. Marianna told me it had been a slow process but she had managed to learn a little of where they and Yaima came from – for that was our tattooed beauty’s name. “But enough of that for now,” She pointed at Yaima, who stood by the door behind me. “Yes, we have everything ready for you. You have toiled long and hard this day, and we shall be your servants for the evening. You will remove your soiled clothing, if you please.”

I glanced from one to the other. Marianna wore her cheeky grin. Yaima, who was now dressed in a clean, flowery shift, looked expectant, perhaps quizzical. For myself, I was too tired to care, and the bath looked most inviting.

Sword and pistols dropped to the deck, and my clothes quickly followed. I stepped into the tub and sank into the warm water, almost unaware that Yaima’s hands were guiding me. My eyes closed at last, and I felt my body relax, the day’s tension slowly draining away.

I revelled in the attention as my hair was washed and rinsed with a jug of warm water. A sponge was drawn over my body. My breasts were gently raised as they were soaped. I drifted close to sleep, yet well aware of the pampering I was receiving.

Lips softly touched mine. There was a strange, slightly bitter taste, and then my senses reeled. My heartbeat quickened. Every touch on my body was a caress of fire – yet not of pain. My pussy throbbed even as my breasts were pressed and pulled. I was engulfed in sensations, with a heightened awareness of every caress.

My hips responded, jerking at the invasion of fingers deep within me. My clit felt a brushing, so soft, gentle, and loving. My body was coming alive. Never had I been so aware of the wonder of being made love to. I briefly thought of the taste on my lips. A potion? If it was, I would not fight it. Indeed, I could not. I was now at a different level of being, somewhere I had never gone before.

I opened my eyes in time to witness Yaima pour a drop of something from a vial onto a handkerchief, which she then held out to Marianna, who touched it to her lips. Her eyes closed for a few seconds, and when they opened again, the look on her face was one of unfathomable longing, of the purest, most unbridled desire I had ever witnessed

Together, they easily lifted me from the tub to the deck. Then they attacked me.

Yaima seemed to be everywhere. She probed my pussy, biting and sucking my clit, and yet… she was also kissing my breasts and sucking on my nipples. But – the oddest thing! – so was Marianna. They were both all over me at once.

I tasted a familiar pussy, then a different, but equally stimulating tang. I sucked an unfamiliar clit that offered itself to my face. My mind was swimming. This could not be real. Such feelings defied all the laws of Nature. Yet as my body reached its peak, I realised it did not matter. We three were now as one as our orgasms clawed at us.

We lay together, breathless from our exertions. Slowly recovering my senses, I remembered the vial, the contents of which Marianna had touched to her lips, and the bitterness in my own mouth. Yaima evidently possessed some native philtre that could cause three women to be wholly conjoined.

When I looked at her, she smiled and spoke softly as she touched both Marianna and myself, her voice a murmuring, rhythmic chant, her fingers the merest whisper across my lips.

Soon I would learn that she had just initiated us into her sect – a cult of love and worship open only to women.

On to Chapter Two!